


voices died with me

by waspfactor



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Asano Gakuhou's Bad Parenting, Character Study, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waspfactor/pseuds/waspfactor
Summary: when he looks in the mirror, it's not him he sees
Relationships: Asano Gakuhou & Asano Gakushuu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	voices died with me

**Author's Note:**

> used to write assclass fic all the time 4/5 years ago n i still never got over my love for gakushuu so here we are. very loosely based on the time i tried absinthe
> 
> title is from arsonist's lullabye by hozier (which is a very gakushuu song methinks)

he looks in the mirror. he’s not wearing his glasses but he can still make out his appearance.

dark eye bags noticeable from miles away. dull, matted hair (when was it that long at the front?). his teeth- straight, white, bleached once- have been chipped. translucent skin pulled thin over his bones and fingers littered with hangnails. muddy violet eyes that hold heavy burdens. a nicer person might’ve said he was going through a tough time, a nastier one would’ve said he’s on death door (he would probably agree).

_(firetruck hair and alarm coloured eyes, lazy grin, all teeth. popped collar and trousers that are too long. number twooooo sang in the april breeze. a challenge, a fight, purpose, something to live for, something to die for)_

his mind, always active (curse and blessing he decided) screams at him _you look like him you are him you look like him you are him you are him him him yours yours yours the same_. he snaps his eyes shut and lets the nausea roll through him, tightening his grip on the sink.

_(kind. too kind and nice and waiting on hand and foot. the kind of niceness that can and is exploited. soft, honey eyes, too sweet, too nice, that hide a lifetime supply of tiredness)_

when he peels open his eyes again, after god knows how long, it’s not him in the mirror anymore. chestnut locks, warm eyes and a boyish charm that one normally grows out of. his head suddenly feels light, hes flying almost. bile tickle his throat as he continues to stare into eyes that are not his. the reflection keeps a steady face, all knowing (smug bastard, he once would have sneered), always watching, always thinking.

_(he forget her face as soon as he learned it, a terrible shame really. what he remembers is warmth, always a smile, hands intertwined, a ring on each finger, sunbeams reflecting off a metal surface, too bright, can’t see)_

he knows who is, has seen the old yearbooks with all the names scratched out cornered away in the attic and even once, when _he_ had drank _himself_ half to death, had sneaked a look into _his_ wallet, saw the faded photo along with the black credit card (no photos of him, he doesn’t know if he should be relieved or angry)

_(the one who got away. forever young, trapped away within the mirror. pink eyes ease the mood but not really, how could they ever. the spinning of a ball, around and around again, always turning, changing, until it doesn’t. silence. fin curtains close and scene)_

when he was younger, more arrogant, more god complex-ish, he’d often wonder what he’d done in a previous life to end up in this situation. (what have I done to deserve this in an angry scrawl on the back of a test paper, 98%- good but not good, bad actually) now, his age is laced with cynicism, what _haven’t_ i done to deserve this.

_(a hierarchy, a system. those who are worthy and those who are not worthy, the divine right to rule over others. them vs us. me vs them, the others. that’s what he believed what right, what was supposed to happen. thats what he was told, just following orders and all that. “you can speak all those languages but can’t find a way of apologising?” yes. sorry about that)_

the boy in the reflection opens his mouth, as if to speak. he doesn’t get to hear it, head snapped down, the pounding in his head, a warm rush of fluid leaving his mouth, the taste of carrot and paint thinner and liquorice and wet pennies. his head spins like a yoyo, weeeee. he coughs, spits out a few bloody streams of saliva and stares at what he’s created. he twists the tap and watches it all go away, splashing some water on himself first.

when he looks back up at mirror, the reflection is gone. it’s not him, not him either. it’s not anything, nothingness, oblivion, _escape,gone,death,not there not there nottherenotherenoherenothere._

the door opens and ah he forgot to lock the door again, warm lighting flooding the sterileness of it all. nothing is said but a thousand words are exchanged in the glance. the breath settles heavy in his lungs, another reflection, another mirror, another ghost. the office, the tank with the centipedes, locked doors, heavy silence, blows that never land, sometimes if he closes his eyes and thinks harder than usual, hes back there, blood around him, bodies around him, fear in him, real fear, _he wants out, wants to scream but his voice dies in his throat, can’t scream, can’t run, can’t-)_

he blinks once, takes a deep breath, passes by his father in a wordless trance. he decides that it is time for bed.

**Author's Note:**

> god i wish i could see all my old fics, that would be incredible. lmk if u liked :')


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